Though None Can See Me
by Makai Goddess Ookami
Summary: A young girl’s death sends the team to Miami in order to figure out what happened, but Greg’s seeing ghosts and more often than not they’re being more of a hindrance then a help. CSI: Miami crossover. [Greg S x T Speed, Nick S x Eric D, Greg S x D Hodges]


**Title**: _Though None Can See Me_  
**Author**: SephirothFlame  
**Fandom**: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: Miami  
**Rating**: PG  
**Disclaimer**: I don't' own CSI: Miami or CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and never will. I'm willing to get on my knees and beg (nothing else, you perverts!). Yeah... They're property of their rightful owners, so don't sue me.  
**Warnings**: Slash, Character Death  
**Spoilers**: Lost Son, Grave Danger and Fannysmackin' (I think that was the name of the episode...)  
**Pairings**: Greg Sanders x Tim Speedle, Greg Sanders x David Hodges, Nick Stokes x Eric Delko  
**Words**: Aproxx. 1761  
**Sephiroth's Rants**: I don't know how serious this is going to get. If you people like it, I'll continue, otherwise I'll probably push this onto the back burner (as long as Gabe permits it).

**Summary**: A young girl's death sends the team to Miami in order to figure out what happened, but Greg's seeing ghosts and more often than not they're being more of a hindrance then a help.

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**Part Un**: Wherein There Are French Boys and Sympathetic Hodges'

_Life Is Plesent. Death is Peaceful. It's the Transition that's Troublesome_.  
-Isaac Asimov

Greg's had lots of bad days before, but he has a feeling this one has got to be among the top five worst. It started out nice enough, at least he'd had the chance to sleep all day (he hadn't had a day off in what felt like _years) _only for Grissom to call him in due to heavy case load. He'd spent the next few hours rooting through three different dumpsters looking for all the evidence pertaining to one decapitated victim. (Who in their right mind would stuff one body in three dumpsters? Greg cursed to himself). He had been ready to clock in for the night when the Amber Alert went out.

Grumbling, he trudged back to the locker room to put his stuff away, ready to pull the double shift on the day he shouldn't have been on anyways. He spent even more time on a futile case. They'd found the small boy dead, crushed lungs from the ill-attempt at CPR from his captors. Sara and Catherine both excused themselves, ready to kill something or cry, or maybe both. Which left Nick and Greg to explain what happened to the devastated parents (a young French fashion designer and her U.S. Army husband on vacation). They both retreated from the room having French bellowed at them as the mother broke down into pathetic tears.

"You going home?" Nick asked Greg lightly, who was staring at nothing in particular.

"No, I don't think so," Greg muttered, having spotted something that Nick must have missed. "I'll see you later, though."

Nick raised an eyebrow but said nothing about Greg's weird behavior, "I'll see you later, G."

"Right, later," Greg replied quickly, and excused himself from the conversation.

Nick watched wordlessly for a moment, but turned and headed to the locker rooms to grab his stuff and head home. Waiting until he was sure Nick was gone and Hodges wasn't going to pop up, Greg glanced over his shoulder and pushed the door open to the Trace Tech's lab. A startled squeak caught his attention, and he saw a small, terrified boy trying to get a pen cap off. Greg knelt in front of him, and offered a gentle smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly, and the boy stared at him in confusion, backing away, unable to fight the trembles that wracked through his body. "You should have gone Up by now." The boy shook his head, uttering soft squeaks as he did so. "Ssh..." Greg said softly, and fought to ignore the pain in his ankles as he knelt there, or the way that his head was pounding and the fact he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Je... ne comprene pas..." The boy said, his voice trembling, barely above a whisper, and Greg suddenly understood.

"Je m'appelle Greg," the CSI said softly, and held his hand out, and the boy stared at it frightened, "Comment vous appellez-vous?"

"Gabe," the boy said softly, and offered Greg the blue pen, which he took and opened, before reluctantly holding it back.

"Gabe..." Greg repeated softly, "Gabriel Beauregarde?" The small boy nodded, a small smile on his frightened face. He took a step closer to Greg. "Ou...?" He began, but the door to the Trace Lab opened up, and an annoyed Hodges glared down at Greg.

For his part, the blonde moved rather quickly, standing and blocking Gabe from Hodges' line of sight. "Can I help you?" Greg asked, and he felt the small child latching onto one jean-clad leg and peering around at Hodges' fearfully.

Hodges quirked an eyebrow, and folded his arms over his chest. "This is my lab." He reminded, an amused smirk on his face.

"Right," Greg said quickly, flushing slightly.

"Greg," Gabe whined, tugging at his pants, "Moi! Ecoutez-moi!"

There was an awkward silence that permitted the room, and Hodges made no inclination he had seen Gabe bouncing around demandning Greg's attention. Greg smiled lightly, and sent the older male a pathetic look, like he was about to burst out into either tears or hysterical laughter, maybe both. Hodges' smirk faded then, and he resisted the urge to reach out and embrace the smaller male. It was hard for even him not to, what, with Greg looking like an abused puppy.

"You should ask for tomorrow off," Hodges said softly.

"I'm fine," Greg said softly, looking down, to stare at Gabe who was ready to throw a temper tantrum. "I don't need a day off."

"If you say so." Hodges didn't push the matter. "Be careful."

"I will."

With that, Greg left the lab, Gabe trailing behind, only after sticking his tongue out at Hodges (for stealing Greg's attention from him). He grabbed Greg's hand as the older male headed for the Locker Rooms. He grabbed his bag from his locker, listening to Gabe yell at him for so blatantly ignoring him earlier. No one stopped to listen to the small boys rant, and no one noticed when the two of them headed out for Greg's car. Only then did Greg pause to glance down at Gabe.

"You can't come home with me," Greg said and the small boy gave him a confused look, his brown locks falling into his blue eyes. He repeated the statement in French and the boy sniffled, suddenly on the verge of tears. He clutched at Greg's legs tightly, refusing to let go, and the older male rolled his eyes. "C'est... " Greg struggled for the right words. He'd taken through French five in high school, but he couldn't figure out how to explain why it was wrong.

Suddenly, Gabe stopped crying, and pat his pockets lightly, a fearful look on his face, then up at Greg. "Ou est-il?" He demanded. Greg opened his mouth to ask what, but the sniffled "mon stylo" was answer enough. He rolled his eyes, and unlocked his car, opening the back door for Gabe to get in, promising he had more pens at home for the child to play with. The thought cheered Gabe up a little, and he stopped crying.

Greg wished he knew what the hell he was getting himself into.

**.x X x X x X x X x X x.**

"She's a pretty girl," Nick said lightly, forcing himself to look away. She was young, probably eighteen at the most, and had a humble sort of beauty to her. David made some sort of remark in the form of a low mumble, and Nick found himself smiling slightly. It didn't last long, and a glance around the hotel lobby brought him back to his senses. Young girl, shot to death in plain sight, but not a soul saw a victim. Not that many people were out this late. He glanced at his watch. Ten past midnight.

"Alright, she's all yours," Catherine said, letting the camera dangle around her neck on the light blue cord.

"Thanks," David said softly, attempting to smile but to no avail. Catherine sent him an apologetic smile, but said nothing. There wasn't much you could say over a dead body of a young girl anyway.

"You got an ID?" Catherine asked Nick, and he nodded, picking up the wallet he'd taken from the girl's pocket.

"Sam O'Neill," Nick said lightly, "She's a Floridian. Driver's License says she's from Miami."

"What was she doing so far from home?" Catherine asked, and Nick shrugged. "Wait..." She glanced around the Lobby. "I thought that Sam didn't get a room yet?"

"She didn't," Nick confirmed.

"I'm noticing a serious lack of belongings," Catherine frowned.

"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair, ignoring Catherine's 'yeah'. "Perfect."

**.x X x X x X x X x X x.**

He groaned, glancing at the clock to his right. Barely two in the morning. He'd taken Hodges advice and asked for the day off, but he'd gotten no more then four hours of sleep due to the hyperactive male bouncing off the walls of his once-silent apartment. He'd done everything in his power to get Gabe to shut up but nothing, _nothing, _worked. He ended up giving over his GameCube to the small male in hope that Legend of Zelda could get him to shut up.

And it had.

Gabe hadn't woke him up. Greg blinked in tired confusion out into the living room from the open door where Gabe was playing Zelda quietly. No, something else had to have woken him up. The soft hum of 'Drift Away' caught his attention and he glared at his cell phone. He leaned over to answer it, grumbling a tired "Salut?" as he did so. He was met by silence on the other end. "Sal—Hello?" Greg closed his eyes tiredly. Now was not the time to get bad phone calls.

"_Salut? Isn't that French?" _Sara asked on the other end.

"What do you want?" Greg grumbled, "It sure as hell better be important."

"_Greg?"_ Sara asked worriedly, "_Are you feeling alright?"_

"I'm fine," Greg mumbled, craning his neck to glance at the TV and hear Gabe's triumphed cheer. "Just tired."

"_Alright..." _Sara said softly, but he could tell she didn't believe him, _"Guess what!" _

"What?"

"_We've got a DB... Young girl, Sam O'Neill, from Miami..."_

"Florida?"

"_Yeah, that Miami. Griss is sending the team out there to get this worked out."_

"The whole team? Griss, Cath, 'Rick, Nicky, You and Me... Over one girl?"

"_It's an important case_…"

"Sounds excessive."

"_Just go with the flow_."

"Fine. When and Where?"

"_I_ _was wondering when you would ask. I'll be at your apartment at noon. Have your stuff packed."_

"Greg?" Gabe asked from the bedroom door, and the blonde wondered how the boy learned to move around so stealthily.

"Une minute," he said to the boy, then sighed. "Miami? Noon tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you then," Sara smiled, and he heard the click of her hanging up.

Greg closed the phone, then glanced at Gabe tiredly.

"Qu-est ce que c'est?" he asked.

"Je suis fatigue..." Gabe replied, shifting from foot to foot, nervously.

FINALLY! The voice in the back of Greg's head screamed, "et?" he asked. Gabe looked between Greg and the bed expectantly. Groaning, Greg rolled his eyes and rolled over onto his back, patting the spot on the bed next to him. Before he could blink, Gabe was using his arm as a pillow, curled into a tight ball with his back pressed against Greg's side. Greg smiled weakly, murmuring a good night before closing his eyes.

**_TBC… _**

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**French Translations**:

First, I'd like to apologize. I'm only in French 3 and I'm starting to get behind. So yeah, my French is... Less Than Perfect. That's not the point. If you notice any errors, feel free to tell me. ; I'll try and get it fixed.

(And yes, there is a reason behind Gabe's speaking French... He's French! But there is a plot point behind it..)

"_Je... ne comprene pas..."_ : "I... don't understand..." (Gabe)

"_Je m'appelle Greg_": "My name's Greg." (Greg)

"_Comment vous appellez-vous_?" : "What's your name?" (Greg)

"_Ou_...?": "Where...?" (Gabe)

"_Moi! Ecoutez-moi_!": "Me! Listen to me!" (Gabe)

"_C'est_... ": "It's..." (Greg)

"_Ou est-il_?": "Where is it?" (Gabe)

"_mon stylo_": "my pen" (Gabe)

"_Salut_?": "Hello/Goodbye (Informal)" (Greg)

"_Une minute_": "One Minute" (Greg)

"_Qu-est ce que c'est_?" : "What is it?" (Greg)

"_Je suis fatigue_...": "I'm tired..." (Gabe)

"_Et_?": "And?" (Greg)


End file.
